It Starts With a Weapon, and Ends With a Whump
by domina tempore
Summary: Lassiter's relaxing vacation in the mountains turns to anything but when he ends up on the bad sides of two criminals on the run. Pressie for MockTurtle on PF. No slash!
1. It Ends With a Whump

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych or its characters; just borrowing, please don't sue. Tom and Danny are mine, though; so please don't steal.

NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGMENT INTENDED.

__

Note: A long-ago promised fic for MockTurtle, filled to the brim with Lassie!whump for you enjoyment. (and I think I actually got a lot of what you sort of asked for in there! ;). Miracle of mirales.) Turtle, I hope you like it! :D

Please forgive mistakes; no beta.

Also, I am putting this in the whumpathon (:. Prompts: forest, gun, fire, gunshot wound, burns, general great-outdoors whumpage, Lassie.

**It Ends With a Whump...**

_by: jewel of athos_

*~.~**:":**~.~*

_A/N: A long-ago promised fic for MockTurtle on PF, filled to the brim with Lassie!whump for you enjoyment. (and I think I actually got a lot of what you jokingly asked for in there! ;). Miracle of mirales.) Turtle, I hope you like it! :D _

_Also, I am putting this in the whumpathon (: (also on PF). Prompts: forest, gun, fire, gunshot wound, burns, general great-outdoors whumpage, Lassie. _

*~.~**:":**~.~*

Carlton Lassiter smiled contentedly and leaned back against a rock. It had been a long time since he had taken any _real_ time off – "real time off" meaning going to a place where that stupid psychic couldn't follow him – and he was enjoying it. There was no way that anyone was going to find him up here in the woods alone, camping. He doubted that they would even look.

He'd started his vacation out right, by blowing the stuffing out of several bushes that had rustled, startling him. You could never be too careful, especially in the middle of nowhere; but you _could_ discharge your weapon as often as you wanted, if necessary. As long as you didn't hit a _person_, that is. But barring that, you had free reign. Yes, shooting was the perfect way to start out a relaxing weekend.

His mood had improved even further when he'd reached his campsite and found that he had a view of a lake. He normally fished saltwater, from a boat; but he had heard good things about the fishing in this area, and as soon as he'd set up camp, he grabbed his gear and headed for the water and cast a line.

By the time he had been there for two hours, he had already caught four large fish and half a dozen smaller ones that he'd thrown back in so they would grow. He figured he needed one more good-sized catch, and he would have enough for both lunch and dinner for the day.

"Now this is how you spend a vacation," he murmured drowsily, closing his eyes. He'd never figured himself for a man of the outdoors, but he'd decided that this was the life. Now if only Spencer would disappear while he was away…

He had almost dozed off, when he heard voices.

A cop's instincts don't take a vacation, even when he does; and Lassiter's first instinct was to hide until he could decide if the men the loud voices belonged to were friendly. People could call it paranoia if they wanted, but he wasn't about to take that chance. He quickly gathered up his tackle and the fish and retreated into the woods. Once he had gone what he figured to be a safe distance out of sight, he settled in to listen. After a moment, the arguing voices became clear.

"I don't know what you were thinking, leading us way out here in the middle of nowhere!" Without really thinking about it, Lassiter began to profile the voice. Fairly young – about early thirties – haughty, hostile. He didn't like it. "We're gonna get killed before we can even spend the darn money, and all of _my_ work will be for nothing!"

"Would you relax?" An older voice, gravely and deep and irritated. "I know these mountains like the back of my hand. Just shut up and follow me and you won't have nothin' to worry about."

"The cops are gonna find us, Tom! You led us into a death trap!"

"They'll only catch us if you keep jabbering like that!" Tom scoffed. "Why I ever thought it would be smart to hook up with a city kid like you…you're too soft for this line of work."

"You never would have gotten your money without me. Without your man Danny, you'd still be sittin' at that bus stop, casing the place."

What place? Lassiter wished they would say exactly where they had stolen from. His hand inched downward towards his hip, where he'd strapped his glock earlier as a precaution. Though when he'd considered emergencies, he'd been expecting bears or obnoxious hunters who couldn't leave well enough alone, or escaped murder convicts or something like that. Not bank robbers. Or whatever kind of robbers they were.

But those were mere details. If he could make an arrest today, while he was on vacation…? That would just about make his year. The only thing that he was missing was cuffs…but again, minor details. From the way these guys were talking, he didn't think that they'd be much of a problem to take care of.

"I don't need this from a skinny kid I could kill with my bare hands," Tom growled, as Lassiter finally spotted the pair trudging along in the shallows, most likely hoping to cover their tracks.

"Well, too late, boys," he grinned, sliding the glock out of its holster. If they could just get a little bit closer…

"Skinny kid? I don't think so, you beat-up old-timer! You – "

"Shut up!"

"What? No! I'm not listening to you anymore – "

"I said keep your voice down!" Lassiter saw Tom grab the younger man and pull him to a stop. "Somebody's out there." Danny laughed.

"Tom, you're crazy as a cat! You're the one keeps saying we're not gonna get caught, there's no one in these mountains, don't worry – "

"Idiot!" Tom hissed, shoving Danny aside and leaning to lift something out of the sand. Lassiter swore.

"What is it?" Danny asked, frowning. Even from the distance that he was, Lassiter saw Tom roll his eyes.

"It's a new fishing lure, idiot. And unless you're packin' hooks…" He trailed off and squinted at the trees, scanning them for life. Lassiter decided to take a more direct approach then waiting to be spotted.

"Freeze!" he shouted, standing up and aiming his weapon their way. "You're under arrest for – Hey!" Both men had immediately pulled guns and started firing on him. Carlton jumped backwards and ducked behind a tree, using it as cover as he let off a few warning shots of his own. "Is there something that you don't understand about "under arrest"?" he demanded.

"Oh, we understand it," Danny shouted, taking a shot at Lassiter's tree. "But we ain't goin' back to jail, not after everything we did to make sure – "

"Shut _up_, idiot!" Tom snapped, as two more bullets buried themselves into the tree. "I should let him get you for that, except you'd just tell him everything and lead him right back to me, and we'd be finished. You don't have the brains of a bullfrog, you – "

"Brains of a bullfrog, really?" Lassiter goaded. "That's the best insult you can come up with? It's one of the lamest things that I've ever heard. I'm surprised that the two of you can walk and talk on your own, with that kind of IQ."

"Oh, so we've got a smart mouth, eh? What's the matter, you too scared to come out and deal with us face to face?"

"If you mean face to bullet, then no, I'm not that stupid. What about you? Are you so scared of one innocent fisherman that you burn eighteen rounds in a tree trying to get at him?"

"A fisherman? That's a good one! Nobody in these parts carries a gun like that. What are you really? Ranger? Cop?" Carlton decided that telling them the truth would work against him with these guys; if they thought that he was harmless, then maybe he could trick them.

"No, just your average American citizen trying to do right by his country. And unlike you, I'm sure, I'm _licensed_ to carry this thing."

"Now, now, tell the truth," the voice was moving, shifting to his left. They were trying to get around him. "Tom don't like liars."

"I'm not lying," he said, peeking around the tree. Both guys were gone from sight. He bit back another swear.

"Yeah you are," Danny said, his voice moving to the right. "You're one of those cops that was in Vegas a couple months back; I saw you in the papers. What's your name again? Spencer?" Lassiter's eyes widened.

"If you ever try to associate me with that insane pseudo-psychic again, I am going to – "

"Hey, calm down, it's okay! Not everyone can be the hero; some people are just average, bad cops."

"Why you – " Lassiter fired blindly into the trees to his right, in a vain attempt to hit the now-invisible voice. At the same time as he moved, he heard bullets start whizzing past his ears again, and peppering the ground behind him. He dove for cover again, cursing himself for letting them tease him out.

_At least they're lousy shots_, he thought as he crashed into the underbrush. Pain ripped through his arms and his chest and his leg as he crawled as quickly as he could out of the line of fire. When he looked back he could see Danny again, though Tom was still invisible in the forest. He crawled back a few feet more, until his back met rock. He slipped behind the huge stone and waited.

"Did I get him?" Tom's voice shattered the momentary stillness. Lassiter held his breath.

"Nah, he's not here," Danny said in disappointment. There was a great racket of crushing leaves and twigs, and then Tom spoke again.

"No, I must have winged him. See the blood, there? I got him."

"Well obviously it wasn't enough to do much damage; he's gone," Danny said.

"He won't get very far," Tom assured the younger man. "He's not from around here; he's gotta have a camp close by. If he's hurt, that's where he'll head first; and that's where we'll be."

"Are you crazy? Hanging out at his campsite? What if the cops come by looking for us?"

"They didn't see you, right? If they come, I'll hide in the tent and you send them off someplace."

"Where?"

"It don't matter where; just so long as they're headed away from us."

"Why can't we just take his stuff and book it?" Danny asked, as the sounds of crashing undergrowth started again, heading away from Lassiter's hiding spot.

"We've got to finish him before we leave; he heard way too much thanks to your mouth. We can afford to lay low here for a few days at the good cop's expense before we spend our loot."

"I don't like it…"

"You don't have to like it! But you have to do it. I'm in charge of this operation, remember?" Their still arguing voices faded away, and the woods were silent again.

Lassiter let out a sigh of relief once he was sure they were gone, even though the relief was fighting for dominance with fury. They were going to find his camp and use _his things_, and escape the law. He was inadvertently helping them escape.

"Not on my vacation," he muttered, starting to stand up. But his right leg collapsed under him almost instantly. "Ah!" He looked down at his leg, and was surprised to see the right leg of his jeans growing a dark, wet stain. "They really did hit me." He'd thought that the pain had been from his dive into the bushes.

He didn't have much with him, but he managed to rip enough fabric off of his shirt to bind up the wound temporarily. It would have to do until he could find something better.

Again – more carefully this time – he tried to get to his feet. He found that he could stand a bit as long as he was leaning against something. But there was no way he was going to make it back to camp before Tom and Danny did. He'd only get himself shot again.

But maybe he could use it against them. He knew exactly where they were going to be; and they had no idea where he was. If he could hide out until nightfall, then maybe he could sneak back and get the truck that he'd rented. Then he could drive someplace with a phone and call in the cavalry. It was an idea, anyways.

But his first order of business was to get away from this place; if one of them decided to come back and look for him, they weren't going to find him.

Painfully, he limped back over to where he'd dropped his things and grabbed his catch and fishing things. Then, with one final glance over his shoulder, he headed off in the opposite direction from his camp, to find a place to hole up until dark.

*~.~**:":**~.~*

Lassiter dozed uneasily for the rest of the day. He'd found a secluded little clearing to hide away in, and by the time he'd finished re-dressing his wound, he was exhausted. Apparently walking through the woods was not congruent with stopping bleeding, and he was starting to get weak. He'd risked a small, brief fire and roasted the fish, but he'd almost fallen asleep doing it. So he'd put out the fire and wrapped up the fish, and had leaned back against a tree and let himself rest.

"They probably won't come back out looking for me this soon, anyways," he tried to assure himself before sleep claimed him.

When he finally came fully awake, night had fallen. He shivered as a cold breeze blew through the woods, and winced at the thought of stumbling through the dark trying to find his own camp and get past Tom and Danny. His plan from the afternoon was starting to sound less and less attractive.

Groaning softly, he closed his eyes, and must have dozed back off again. He was awakened very suddenly by a hand on his shoulder.

In spite of the pain that he was in, and his foggy, tired, brain, he reacted with the speed of a true cop, grabbing the appendage and whipping his gun into position on its owner. A familiar squawk of indignation pierced the stillness.

"Wow, down, Lassie-boy!" Lassiter felt his heart drop.

"Spencer?" he moaned, releasing the hand. Shawn laughed.

"In the flesh. You know, you might want to let me know that you're going away next time, _before_ you go away. It took me all day to find you! But when Buzz found out that you'd forgotten your wallet…"

"McNab…" Lassiter banged his head lightly against the back of the tree. When he got back…

"What happened to you, by the way?" Shawn asked, clicking on a flashlight and shining it in the detective's face. "I went to the campsite that I thought you were staying at, but there were these two creepy guys there. They said they'd seen someone like you go off chasing some bank robbers or something." Carlton groaned again.

"They _were_ the bank robbers, Spencer! They shot me and took over my camp. You'd think a psychic would figure out something like that."

"Lassie, I can't turn it on and off," Shawn reminded him. "But as it is, I knew they were lying; I just didn't know quite what had happened to you. But now I do!" He grinned. "So where did they shoot you, anyways? Did you wrap it?"

"They shot me in the head, and no I didn't wrap it, I want it to become infected so I can die from it," the detective grumbled irritably. Shawn held up his hands.

"Hey, take it easy. I'm here to help, okay?" He pulled a red bandana out of his pocket, and shined the flashlight up and down Lassiter's body until it lit up the bloodied bandage. "Oh, ouch," he winced. "Yeah, I'm guessing we're gonna need some Neosporin on this one. Hey, hold still!" Shawn clamped the flashlight in his teeth, and tried to hold the detective's leg still as he removed the bloodied cloth and tie the bandana firmly. Lassiter pressed his lips together tightly, and fought the urge to sock the psychic in the mouth. As irritating as he was and as much as he deserved it for following him on what was _supposed_ to be his vacation, he was only trying to help.

"Ah, there we go!" Shawn finished tying the bandage with a flourish, and Lassiter let his breath out with a woosh.

"Thanks," he muttered. Shawn's face lit up.

"Oh, Lassie! You're welcome! I can't believe that you actually said – "

"Hey, it was a thank you, not a proposal! Gosh, Spencer..." he shook his head. "I almost would have been better off without your help." Shawn shrugged.

"Well, almost means that you still appreciate me, so I guess that's okay." He picked up the flashlight from where he'd dropped it when he started talking, and angled it so that he wasn't _completely_ blinding the detective anymore. "So what's the plan?" he asked.

"What?"

"How are we going to win against those two guys who stole your camp and shot you? I'd be a bad partner if I didn't somehow take revenge on them for that."

"Spencer, you are not my partner..." Lassiter tried, but Shawn wasn't listening.

"...it just has to be done, you know? There's no way that I'm going to let them get away with humiliating you with their marksmanship and vacation-distrupting skills; I mean, that's my thing, right? Who are they to think that they can just waltz in here and totally try and take over my job? It's not right! And after you rescued me in Vegas, too." Lassiter rolled his eyes.

"So glad to see you care about me." Shawn nodded.

"Oh, yup, yes, definitely, that's me! Caring is my middle name. Shawn Caring Awesome Totally-Amazing-Haired Sharpshooting Psychic-Detective-Extrodinare Handsome Witty Spencer. Well, it's one of my middle names, anyways..."

"Was there a point to all of that?"

"As a matter of fact there was, Lasso-meter! I am going to help you get revenge on, and possibly arrest, those two crooks sitting in your camp drinking beer right now."

"I didn't bring any beer on this trip..."

"Tequila, then. But the liquor was hardly the most important part of that statement! I'm going to help you, Lassie. We're going to be like your great-great-great-etcetera grandfather, General Muskrat – "

"Mus-_kum_."

" – winning that battle, except we'll be fighting bank robbers instead of assasins. It'll be great!" Carlton peered carefully at the psychic through the dark, but to his mild surprise, he seemed completely sincere.

"You really want to help me get these guys, don't you?" he asked. "This isn't just for the glory."

"Of course not! It's for you, Lassie." The detective rolled his eyes and sighed.

"I just know that somehow I am going to regret this," he muttered. Shawn clapped.

"Great! Come on, let me help you up; I've got an idea."

"Oh, great. You know, I've had visions of Santa Barbara exploding because of you and your "ideas"..."

"Now, now, Lassie, there's nothing to worry about. Besides, _I'm_ the psychic; I'm the only one who gets visions..."

*~.~**:":**~.~*

By the time that they had reached his camp, Lassiter was more convinced than ever that Shawn was absolutely nuts.

"Remind me how making myself a target to them again and giving _you_ my gun is going to help us?" he hissed as they crouched in the bushes, scoping out the camp. Tom and Danny had lit a fire, and as Shawn had said were both sitting around drinking and talking loudly.

"Look at them, they're totally drunk; it's not like it will actually be a fair fight. You just have to get 'em riled up a little, enough to lose a few rounds. Once they're out of bullets, the plan will pretty much come together on its own."

"Spencer..."

"Look, just keep them distracted, okay? And let me handle the rest." He held out his hand expectantly. Moaning, Lassiter placed the weapon in his palm.

"I want that returned in _perfect_ condition, do you hear me?" he demanded. "_Perfect_. And if it's not, you'd better run before I use it on you."

"That sounds fair," Shawn decided, tucking the gun into his waistband. "Now, lets do this!"

As quietly as they could, the two men crept forward, until they had nearly reached the camp. Shawn patted Lassiter on the shoulder.

"Good lucky, buddy," he whispered, before slipping off into the darkness to work on his end of the deal. In his head, Lassiter counted off two minutes, then took a deep breath, and stepped into the circle of firelight in what had once been his camp. Tom and Danny jumped.

"You!" Tom shouted hoarsly. Lassiter limped a step forward.

"You killed me," he accused. "You shot me and left me in the forest to die. Now I want revenge."

"Aw, heck..." Tom fumbled for his gun. Danny leaped drunkenly to his feet.

"I don' belive'n ghosts," he slurred, chucking a bottle at Lassiter before searching around for his own gun. Lassiter saw it, lying on the ground a few feet away from him, but he was hardly about to bring that fact to his attention. And it seemed that Tom couldn't find his gun, either.

_Darn psychic did it again_, he thought grudgingly, advancing another painful step. Danny backed away.

"Get away from'me!"

"I must have revenge."

"Aw, come on!" he whined. "I didn't shoot you, Tom did!" Lassiter's head whipped towards Tom, which gave him an instant headache that he ignored.

"Darn right I did!" Tom sounded surprisingly lucid compared to his partner. "And dangit, I don't believe in ghosts!" Abandoning the search for his weapon, he took a step forward and lunged at Carlton. And the entire plan was thrown to the dogs.

"I am going to _kill_ Spencer!" he yelled as Tom crashed into him.

What happened in the next few minutes was a little fuzzy. Lassiter managed to get Tom off of him and climb back on his feet, and the two of them scuffled and fought. He had no idea what was going on with Danny or Shawn other than a vague memory of a cowboy yell at one point. Otherwise, his attention was completely taken up with trying to stay alive while fighting Tom. The man was grinning like he'd already beaten him.

"Yeah, some ghost you are; you're just a flesh and blood cop who's having a bad last day."

"And you're a dirty scoundrel and I'm going to take you down."

"With what? You ain't got that pretty gun of yours no more, do you? You're a dead man."

"I don't think so!" Tom lunged again, but this time Carlton was expecting it, and let his injured leg lead him down and out of the way. Tom fell on his face and roared. Springing to his feet, he whirled around and kicked at the fire, sending a shower of sparks into the air. The wind caught them, and Lassiter felt bits of himself burning. He shouted wordlessly and smacked at the flames springing up on his clothes and the burning spots on his skin and hair, and Tom attacked.

Rolling around in the dirt fighting a crazy old bank robber pulling a knife on you was definitely not the idea cure for a gunshot wound; but with his alternative being death, Lassiter put all that he had into that fight. Once they ended up a little too close to the fire, but he managed to flip Tom so that he was the one that burned, although there was definite singeing on his already hurt leg. But it was Tom's knife that did the most damage, slashing at his arms and his torso and nearly slicing off his cheek one time. He was beginning to wonder if Shawn had left him there to take his chances.

"Spencer!" he shouted, ducking another slash from Tom's knife, "You still out there?"

"Working on it!" Shawn's voice replied. Tom's fist connected with Lassiter's face, and he kicked him hard with his good leg and managed to fling him away.

"Well hurry up!"

"Just a second!" Lassiter jerked away from another punch.

"We don't have a second!"

"Okay, I think I got it!" Tom thrust the knife again, and Lassiter caught his hand and fought it as the blade slowly sank lower and lower towards this chest. Suddenly, a hand tapped Tom's shoulder. Surprise, the half-drunk man turned his head.

Shawn was standing there, holding Lassiter's glock the wrong way and smiling like an idiot.

"I love it when a plan comes together!" he said cheerfully, and whacked the guy over the head with it. Tom slumped over without a sound.

Lassiter pushed the unconscious body off of his then let his head fall back against the ground, gasping for breah. He glanced at Shawn.

"I am never going to be the distraction again," he hissed. Then blackness overtook him.

*~.~**:":**~.~*

_Note: *deep breath* There! I give you the whumpage! I was originally going to do this fic all in one shot, but I changed my mind. There will be a tiny epilogue of sorts with some aftermath stuff. But right here, right now, I give you whumpage. So, Turtle, what do you think? (:_

_ps. Kudos to anyone who caught the referance to "Sneaks, Rattlers, and High Rollers". ;)_


	2. And Starts With a Weapon

_Note: __Da-da-daaaa! :D The tiny part two, to make this complete (:_

**...And Starts With a Weapon**

*~.~**:":**~.~*

When Lassiter came to, it was to the sound of Shawn's voice humming along to a grainy recording of "Joanna".

_Now where the heck did he get a radio?_ he wondered groggilym looking around and tryingto fil in the blanks from his memory. Shawn was sitting at a camp chair by the fire, and at the edge of te flame's glow, there were two dark, motionless lumps. Lassiter himself was near the fire – though not too near – resting on a sleeping bad and covered in a blanket.

Shawn glanced at him.

"Hey, Lassie, you're awake! I called the cops and an ambulance, they should be here soon. How are you feeling?" Lassiter blinked several times, taking stock.

"I'm okay, he said finally, as events clicked into place in his head. Besides, the psychic surely knew about his pain, but he wasn't about to advertise it. "How did you get Tom's gun away from him? I didn't see you sneak into the camp."

"Which one's Tom, the big one or the wrinkly old one?" Lassiter raised an eyebrow. "I palmed it when I first got here, before I came and got you." Lassiter's eyes widened.

"You had it the whole time?"

"Yeah! Pretty slick of me, eh?"

"Then why did you need _my_ gun?"

"So they didn't think that you were a threat! Besides, your gun was so much bigger than his!" Lassiter raised himself painfully on one elbow, fighting back a wince.

"So I gave you _my_ weapon, for _nothing_?"

"Not for nothing! I saved you from being charged with manslaughter!" Shawn grinned, but Lassiter was climbing to his feet, rage blinding him to the pain.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that just yet," he growled. Shawn jumped to his feet and stumbled back as the detective advanced.

"Now, wait a minute I saved your life not one hour ago; and now you're out for my blood? Am I the only one who sees the injustice, here?"

"Injustice? You took my weapon – when you didn't need it – and sent your injured "partner" in alone against two crazy, drunk perps, to fight with them and nearly get killed before you saved me. And you followed me here! You followed me here when I specifically left instructions for you to be kept away, and you sat back and laughed as I almost got myself killed..."

"Okay, when you put it that way, I made some mistakes; but come on! Did you see how well we worked together? Lassie?"

*~.~**:":**~.~*

**FIN.**

_Note: So there you have it! :D I felt like I needed a little something more to finish it...but tell me what you think. _

_Turtle, I hope that you are feeling lots better, and I'm glad that you enjoyed the first bit so much! *huggles* I love my Turtle pal (:_


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